


The Soldier and the Singer

by Binaryfrog



Series: Past Lives [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: AU, F/M, Interactive, Interactive Fiction, Reader-Interactive, WWII, World War Two
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 20:27:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5511989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Binaryfrog/pseuds/Binaryfrog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You have become a singer at an upscale club, much to your mother's chagrin, that frequently caters to soldiers on leave. A dance invite sets the story in motion. Oh if only mother could see you now.</p><p>Excerpt:<br/>You beam in the spot light, soaking up every bit of this magical moment, when your attention is suddenly monopolized by a man in uniform at the table in the very center of the room. The man looked to be high ranking, definitely army, possibly captain, it was hard to tell from that distance but you are fairly certain. You could see that his blond hair was perfectly in place. You could also see his eyes, soft and warm, looking at you with an expression akin to rapture. The scar above his lip is highlighted by an easy smile. You can't help but wonder if you've seen him before...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Soldier and the Singer

**Author's Note:**

> This series is currently on hiatus indefinitely, sorry for the inconvenience. I do not want to orphan it because I feel like I'll come back to it eventually, but right now I have no motivation to write it. Keep your hopes up! It may return sooner than you think.
> 
> This is a part of a series of AU stories I'm doing set in World War Two. Other fandoms will follow but this is the one I've decided to start with. Please enjoy, and leave comments if you so desire. Each work will have 5 chapters, arching a love story.  
> -BinaryFrog

 

The lights in the dressing room glow warmly and illuminate your painstakingly crafted pin curls, an effort that you hope will not go unnoticed. You had never been quite good at shaping the little loops of hair . Mother always said you had clumsy hands, too thick to be effeminate but too narrow to be masculine. She always had something to criticize and before you left home you had wondered where she kept finding these things. Surely she must have exhausted her possibilities? You shake your mother's disapproving stare from you mind's eye and you begin to unroll each curl, watching with awe as they fall perfectly and bounce gently. You carefully mold the curls into your desired shape, your tongue just barely poking out between your lips.

 

“Alright Bekah,” you look yourself in the eyes as you apply your make up, still in wonder over how much you really change after the foundation and eyeliner is applied, “Soldiers are out there, exhausted from the war. Show them a good time before they get shipped off to the hell that is Germany again.” You apply a dark crimson lipstick. The color reminds you of blood and you cringe slightly, remembering what they're hell truly is. Your mind wanders as you wonder what they see every day, what horrors they must endure, but you are quickly brought back to reality by a crash and a chorus of hearty laughs from the stage hands. You smirk, thinking maybe your job won't be too hard tonight after all. You reach in to one of the drawers of your vanity and pull out your favorite pair of stockings, not to thick and not to thin. As you roll one stocking up your leg, you wonder how big the audience is tonight. The club had been packed recently, so you are expecting the same tonight. You make sure the seam is straight before you secure the fabric in place with a black garter and move on to the other stocking, following the same routine as with the first. Your mind again wanders to the stage, this time wondering if they had remembered to sweep today. If they hadn't you would after the show, even ifthey try to tell you not to. It's only fair to help out after all. You slip on one sanguine heel, and then the other, again thinking of the carnage overseas. You shiver and put it out of your mind.

 

“So unladylike,” your mother huffs into your ear, “Revealing so much skin... and what a whorish color of red! If your father ever saw you like this my word...” She saying the same old things she had always said, even when you were home. Never good enough, always showing too much skin, and cross your ankles young lady! You giggle, but she continues, “You're just begging for it you know. No wonder that nice young ma-” You know where this is going and shut down the thought immediately. He has no place here. This is your sanctuary.

 

You look in the mirror and with a sly smile and purposefully adjust your breasts, accentuating the cleavage peaking above the neck line of your flaming dress. A vision in red. You chuckle and give yourself a wink before turning to look at your rump, perfectly highlighted. You are a seductress tonight, with perfectly falling curls, lips that could suck the life out of a person if they weren't careful, and a body that would make a movie star jealous. Mother wasn't here, she couldn't stop you, and dare you say it, she could eat her heart out.

 

“Five minutes to curtain Bekah.”

 

The voice startles you and reflexively you cover your bosom, forgetting you are already clothed, before turning around to see Bull looming in the doorway. You note that you have never seen him enter this room and wonder if it's because he's too big to fit through the door. The man was rather large and very intimidating. If you hadn't had a conversation with him he was down right scary, but you knew better. His voice is gentle and callous simultaneously, an unnervingly attractive combination, and to further complicate his character, he always seemed to be bursting out of his usual white button up and suspenders, but you think he prefers it that way. You figure he wants people to see him and know he could snap them like a twig if they crossed him. But the man, for all his gruff exterior was a giant teddy bear.

 

The gargantuan man had a slew of jobs at the club. Before and after shows he was the bouncer, keeping the men who were too drunk out and letting the sober ones in, occasionally walking you from the club to a cab to make sure you were safe. During, he was the stage manager, and although he would never admit it he had helped with hair an make up a few times. For a man who looked like he should be on a battle field somewhere, he enjoyed his many jobs, even the small ones.

 

You drop your arms and smile up at him warmly and nod nervously as you stand and walk towards him, listening to the click of your heels, “You almost scared me out of my dress.”

 

He chuckles louder than he probably means to and offers his massive and well toned arm arm, which you take with slight hesitation, wondering if the fabric will rip when touched, “Its not that hard,” he mentions as he leads you up the stairs to the stage, “The wind scares you.” You smack him playfully on the shoulder as he lets his arm fall smiling at you warmly. The two of you had become fast friends since you started performing here and you are suddenly very grateful for his sturdy presence before the show. Tonight was going to be different, you knew it in your gut but you couldn't explain why.

 

Bull places a gentle but giant hand on your shoulder, almost engulfing it, “Good luck,” he says gruffly and you smile, thinking that tonight you are really going to need it. You move quietly to the center of the stage behind the big emerald green curtain and take deep breaths, placing yourself on the familiar small chalk “x” at the heels of the microphone stand. You stare at the back of the curtain. _Tonight is your night_ , you think to yourself, _you can do this_.

 

4 minutes.

 

Your hand reaches up to gingerly cup the chrome of the microphone, wondering if they had tested it. _Oh god what if it doesn't work?_ But Bull and Dorian had both checked it at least three times and they always make sure it works before a show. You take another deep breath and calm yourself, _everything is going to be fine._

 

3 minutes.

 

You run your opening song through your head one more time even though you know it by heart. And then once more in case you had forgotten it. _Which verse came first again?_

 

1 minute

 

The house lights dim and Dorian quickly moves past you to the stage, flashing you a thumbs up as he goes. Ever the pragmatic host, he is speaking clearly and precisely the minute the lights hit him. You can't make out what he's saying through your nerves but suddenly the crowd erupts in laughter, signaling the closing joke of his speech. The man practically owns the place and will never let you forget it. He prides himself on how well he takes care of the patrons, and will tell anyone who asks that this is his destiny. You chuckle and shake your head. You had to hand it to him though he was very good at his job and he had a knack for building rapport with his guests. His wit was charming, and he was just sarcastic enough to be funny with out being rude.

 

Show time.

 

The crowd suddenly goes silent. You hadn't noticed the lights turn off but it's now pitch black. Your heart thumps so hard in your chest you think the entire flock of people before the stage must hear it. The band strikes up a bubbly intro and the curtain raises, a sudden spotlight illuminating the curls you worked so hard to achieve, and before you know it the words of the song are flowing from your soul, soft like silk but strong like steel. There is absolutely nothing that can stop you now, nothing can hold you back. On this stage you are royalty, invincible, able to hold a crowds attention with just a single look, and you revel in it. Your eyes hold the gazes of many, and each one of them is your friend, your lover, your son or daughter, whatever they wish. For this moment, you are their goddess, and they worship you.

 

_See me mother? This is power. Your daughter has made something of herself and you can never take that away._

 

The opening song moves gracefully from verse to verse, taking on a life of it's own. Twisting and turning and tumbling and flying, until it ends with whistles, catcalls, and applause. You smile your job has been accomplished, but now it was time to speak to the audience. Your eyes on fire, you tell the soldiers how proud their country is of the men fighting against Hitler's regime. This is met with drunken hoots, hollers, and feral war cries. Your smile grows. You beam in the spot light, soaking up every bit of this magical moment, when your attention is suddenly monopolized by a man in uniform at the table in the very center of the room. The man looked to be high ranking, definitely army, possibly captain, it was hard to tell from that distance but you are fairly certain. You could see that his blond hair was perfectly in place. You could also see his eyes, soft and warm, looking at you with an expression akin to rapture. The scar above his lip is highlighted by an easy smile. You can't help but wonder if you've seen him before...

 

Shaking the thought from your head, you announce the next song with a smile that could bring a grown man to his knees. The band begins to play, and again you sing. The rest of the set goes off with out a hitch, near perfection. Your mind finally withdraws from the strange soldier, his warm and inviting smile, and perfect blond hair, but he stays in the back of your mind.

\---

 

You walk off the stage proudly, savoring the vision of flowers at your feet and the sound of deafening applause. You note that you haven't heard an ovation this thunderous in weeks, and decide that maybe the blond soldier was your good luck charm. You'll keep him around. You chuckle to yourself and dreamily amble off toward the green room, his smile still caught in your mind's eye.

 

A firm but gentle hand on your shoulder shakes you from you reverie with a start. You turn to see Dorian, clad in matching navy blue pinstripe vest and slacks with an off grey dress shirt, a bright carnation in his breast pocket. The man is always perfectly groomed and in order and you smile internally. No wonder Bull is so fond of him.

 

The man smiles warmly at you and takes your arm in his, “Amazing work tonight Bekah, I have never been so moved,” he beams like a proud father and dramatically places the back of his free hand to his forehead, “You are slowly turning in to a sultry fox! Oh where have the days gone, my little starlet is all grown up!”

 

You chuckle at him and whack him on the shoulder, “Don't let Bull catch you flirting or he may throw me over his shoulder and plunk me in the street! And then what would you do?” you smile softly as the two of you wander aimlessly towards the green room. The two men had entrusted you with their secret affair a few days ago after you had imparted yours. You weren't shocked, and were honestly very happy that the two of them had found a love so deep. A love that you have never seemed to be able to reach. You had loved once... but it had ended and you were glad of it. The memory of it's ending is painful, and you can feel your chest constricting as you enter the green room. You are vaguely aware that Dorian has been talking to you, but you can't seem to remember what he has been talking about.

 

As you enter the lavish room, you flop down on one of the plush, velvet couches and sink in, kicking off your heels in the process and massaging your feet. You were used to heels by now but some days the pain is terrible.

 

“Bekah, are you listening to me?”

 

You startle from your thoughts and eye the man wearily, “No I'm sorry... What were you saying?”

 

He huffs, and motions to one of the tables in the room a bit too casually, “I was saying that I believe you have an admirer,” a vase of roses stands proudly in the center of the table with an envelope underneath. Dorian grins slyly, “No doubt from tall, blond and handsome... That's right! I saw you two ogling each other during your set. How could you do such a thing to me?”

 

You look to Dorian with an expression of feigned shock, “Why Dorian, are you jealous that I may have a gentleman caller?”

 

“My dear, although my... appetites lie elsewhere I can assure you that yes I am in fact very jealous and I will fight for your honor!” he mimes removing a sword from his belt and bows. You chuckle and lift yourself from the couch. Your feet glide across the floor to the vase of beautiful roses and when you reach it you inhale there deep, rich scent, remembering your childhood and the many rose bushes your mother had planted along the side of your home. You take the envelop from under the vase and shakily lift the the flap, pulling the plain white card in to your hand.

 

You read the card,

 

“Miss Bekah,

Your performances have entranced and captured me over the last few days. Forgive me but I felt the need to send you a small gift. I hesitate to say it but I believe I have never heard a voice so beautiful, and it would be my honor to take you out on the town. I know a small place that plays good music and has a clean dance floor that I'm sure you would enjoy. How does 8 o'clock on Thursday evening sound? I will wait for you outside after you have finished your set. I hope to see you soon.

 

Sincerely, Captain Rutherford”

 

You look wide eyed at Dorian before your face breaks into a goofy and stupid smile.

 

“Well if you don't go I will,” Dorian offers, turning towards the door, “You'd have to be dead to not find the man captivating.” You bolt after him, grabbing his arm only to notice Bull in the door way once more. The colossal man smiles down at you warmly, having heard the whole conversation.

 

“Stay here. I'll tell him. Wanted to have a word with him before you accepted anyways. Man has to know what I'll do to him if he tries anything funny.” He cracks his knuckles and for one nauseating moment you wonder exactly what this man had done in the past, but then you wonder how both of them knew you would say yes.

 

You look at them both suspiciously and raise an eyebrow before turning to Dorian, “What have I told you about reading my letters?”

 

He shrugs and smirks back, “It wasn't _my_ idea,” he looks over at Bull teasingly.

You chuckle, knowing they mean the best but still feeling slightly violated at the invasion of privacy, “Just... don't hurt him ok?”

 

Bull laughs heartily but doesn't answer you and walks away, Dorian trailing behind him. You stare at them as they go and wonder if the captain will be safe out there before sitting gingerly in the chair at the table. You gaze at the beautiful flowers, wondering what exactly has fallen in to your lap and what will come of it.

 


End file.
